


Pastries and Promises

by tincturesofamusement (orphan_account)



Series: Dreamer Errant [5]
Category: The Bone Season - Samantha Shannon
Genre: F/M, Paige was too polite to steal a cookie, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tincturesofamusement
Summary: -Paige makes one new friend and reconciles with an old one.
Relationships: Paige Mahoney/Warden | Arcturus Mesarthim
Series: Dreamer Errant [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708393
Kudos: 6





	Pastries and Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Tempted as I am to write more about Iris, I doubt I'll be coming back to this particular reality anytime soon. I hope you've enjoyed the series!

I left the room as soon as my heartbeat slowed, which took minutes but felt like hours.  
  
_Twenty hours_. I would never have to ask to know that Warden had spent every one of those hours by my side. Maybe trying to decide which of us was to blame. Maybe speculating what had happened, why his touch could suddenly bring me into indefinite sleep.  
  
He’d have to wait a while for that answer. A conversation about Warden’s effect on my dreamscape was about as desirable as a picnic with Errai Sarin.  
  
When I arrived at the electronics store, twilight masked the city. Nearly every booth in the store was filled with people playing games on the table surfaces, out for a night with friends. The scene was filled with such insouciance that the tension in my shoulders drained away - right into the recollection that they were all competing to hunt down and murder people like me. So much for carefree.  
  
The syndicate’s booth, as I decided to start calling it, was occupied by a single child, who was scribbling at a data pad instead of playing the games. He looked up when I approached, and I saw it was Iris’ young charge.  
  
“Hello, miss,” he said through a clumsy accent. “Iris told me, wait for the pretty woman with curls.”  
  
“She’s very kind. _Depuis combien de temps attends-tu?_ ”  
  
His face brightened when he heard me speak French. “ _Elle m’a dit que j’aurais besoin de pratiquer mon anglais!_ ”  
  
“You’re welcome to practice your English. What’s your name?”  
  
“Youcef.”  
  
“And is Iris your grandmother?”  
  
“ _Oui_ \- yes - no - _non. Elle est la mère du père du Lucas, et puisque Lucas est mon ami, je l’appelle Iris comme ça._ ”  
  
A new voice spoke from behind my shoulder. “ _Tu m’appelles comment, petit silène?_ ”  
  
“ _Grand-mère!_ ” Youcef bounced up. “This is the woman! The pretty woman with curls!”  
  
“ _Merci,_ ” said Iris, sliding into the booth beside me. Her hair draped freely over her shoulders. “Hello, Flora.”  
  
“Iris.”  
  
“Youcef generously agreed to tell me when you arrived here,” she said to me. “I fear he has been waiting for a few hours longer than his original contract, but I guessed you’d come eventually.”  
  
I raised an eyebrow. “I overslept.”  
  
Her smile broke out again. “Of course, rose.” A party of three girls got up from an adjacent booth and made their way toward the exit. Iris waited until they passed to continue. “So, you survived the cinema?”  
  
Youcef looked up at the cognate.  
  
“Barely. And I’ll have to deal with this for a while,” I said, yanking back my sleeve to show where the Emite had bitten my arm.  
  
Iris met my gaze for a moment. “I suppose you did have another condition before I ask how that happened.” She leaned forward and, as before, tapped at the tabletop in a seemingly erratic manner. “Move over, rose.”  
  
I did as she said, and Youcef mirrored me from across the table, sliding closer to the wall. The wall, meanwhile, had apparently ceased to exist below the table line.  
  
“Youcef will show you around,” Iris said. “I should stay here in case anyone gets suspicious. I’ll meet you another time.”  
  
I considered objecting to this plan, but I was the one who’d asked about this place’s secret. Besides, Youcef looked thrilled to be able to bring a guest. He beamed at me, his teeth bright against the dark tan of his skin. Iris winked at me. “No one’s looking, you two. _Allez-y._ ”  
  
Youcef slouched in his seat and stretched his legs into the emptiness where the panel had retracted. I was half again as tall as he was, but I tried to copy him. He checked the store one last time before noiselessly slithering out of sight.  
  
Compared to the bright lights of the store, anything in the darkness under the table was indiscernible. I felt for the ledge at the edge of the floor and lowered myself down, hanging on by my fingertips. My shoulders managed the effort, but my wrists and sides strained painfully. There was still only emptiness below my feet. I pressed my mouth shut to keep from making a noise, and let go. Almost immediately, I crumpled onto a sturdy net.  
  
“ _Bienvenue!_ ” Youcef whispered. A rustle or two later, candlelight flared, and I could see well enough to climb out of the net.  
  
We had descended into nothing more than a utilitarian office. Defunct screens and a few flimsy chairs were scattered around the floor. There was a door with a broken knob on the wall corresponding to the back of the store above, where I could sense the dozens of dreamscapes we had just left behind.  
  
Youcef seemed to be waiting expectantly near the wall. “ _Je suis désolé, mademoiselle, mais grand-mère m’a dit que nous ne devrions aller qu’au pâtisserie._ ”  
  
“ _Très bien. Mais -_ ” I glanced toward to the door. If he intended on going somewhere, he was on the wrong side of the room for the exit. A suppressed giggle answered my hesitation.  
  
“The door is here,” he said, indicating the wall behind him. When I moved closer to the candle, I saw that there were thin outlines of broken paint in the wall. Youcef pushed the concealed door, chafing it against the floor, and led me down the hall beyond. A minute later, we emerged into a brightly lit room filled with the scent of warm bread.  
  
Youcef blew out the candle and positioned it carefully on the floor of the dark passage. “There are more doors,” he said slowly, “if we know to look. But this is the first... road grandmother wants you to know.”  
  
“And it leads to the cookshop,” I said. Ovens and racks filled the space, which was clearly the back room of the same cookshop I’d seen when I passed by a few days ago.  
  
“Yes. And, you give her your answer, you see more...” His brow wrinkled in frustration as he tried to think of the word.  
  
“Secrets.” I’d seen my share of hidden passageways and chambers in London, and if any of my instincts were right, the ones in Paris existed for just about the same reason. “Iris will show me more secrets.”  
  
“ _Exactement._ ”  
  
“Well, that sounds fair enough,” I said. I smiled at Youcef. “Thank you for letting me see this one.”  
  
He bowed solemnly. “You’re welcome!”  
  
After snatching a pink frosted pastry from a baking tin, he nodded to me and we emerged into the cookshop. The cashier spared us a bored glance and returned their attention to a data pad. Youcef pulled his hood up and walked out of the shop in front of me. . Once on the street, he slumped his shoulders and lengthened his strides, looking like just another disinterested child with an errand to run. The transformation from his eager ebullience of a minute ago was impressive, but anyone trying to stay off Scion’s radar had to know a trick or two to turn invisible.  
  
I, of course, did the exact same thing as I exited the cookshop; my hood was already up, but I kept my eyes down and put my hands in my pockets. Nothing to see here. I had no way of knowing if my face was recognizable in Paris as well as London - now that I was considered dead, there probably weren’t advertisements about my unnatural iniquity in either city - but it never paid to earn a second look.  
  
My thoughts turned to Iris. I didn’t know when she would come to collect the information I’d promised her about the Emite, but she wasn’t the type to wait too long. And once we’d had that conversation, I would learn more about her syndicate. I hoped it was soon. I wasn’t the type to wait at all.  
  
Back at the apartment, I scaled the fire escape stairs again and nestled against the shelter on the rooftop. I could do this. I was a mollisher, Underqueen, even a red-jacket. I knew how to dreamwalk.  
  
I closed my eyes. My dreamscape spread innocently before me, unscathed from the previous night. The aether’s blackness extended beyond my mind for as far as my gift could sense. Now for the hard part.  
  
I let my chest fill with oxygen and dreamwalked. I became a ghost, fluttering among dreamscapes, sensing flashes of sunlit zones. Just as I had when I was working for Jaxon, I picked up on people’s intentions. I saw fleeting glimpses of desires and wishes, the shadows of fears.  
  
I snapped back to meatspace and took a breath. I was safe. I’d done it. That wasn’t so bad at all. I counted to ten, slowly, pressing each finger against my palms. Then I drifted away again.  
  
I don’t know how long I spent there, practicing leaving my body. Long enough for the sky to change to black and for sparks of white light to adorn it. As I stared upwards, I remembered Warden’s words. _I want you to jump into the aether as if you belonged there._ I might be voyant, but I was still human. I didn’t belong in the aether. But I could learn it well enough to find safety there.  
  
I pulled away from my dreamscape once more, scanning my surroundings, and caught the familiar shape of Warden’s mind. His dreamscape was motionless in the apartment room. Yawning, I brushed gravel off my clothes and made my way back through the fire escape to join him.  
  
Warden was still taking his coat off when I opened the door. “You have remarkable timing,” he said by way of greeting.  
  
“Not really. I picked up on your dreamscape.”  
  
He paused at that, but only for a second. “Well done.”  
  
I looked around the room, searching for a clock. There was none. “I’m guessing you don’t have a watch?”  
  
“A wise supposition when interacting with a Rephaite. I do not.”  
  
I pursed my lips, eyeing the window as if it would tell me anything more specific than “night”, and took a seat on the table with my boots propped on a chair.  
  
“How long have you been gone?” he said.  
  
“I’d know that if you had a watch,” I muttered. The flame of a candle rose behind his eyes. “I went to see Iris.”  
  
“What did you learn of her?”  
  
I related what had happened.  
  
“I am unsurprised to learn that the cookshop is also linked to the syndicate. It has a rather lower ratio of amaurotic to voyant customers than most establishments in Paris,” he responded.  
  
“You’ve been keeping tabs on all of them?”  
  
“To some extent.” Almost as an afterthought, he pulled off his gloves and folded them on the table. A habit of two centuries was probably difficult to break. “But you did not return here once Youcef left?”  
  
There was only a little hesitance in my voice when I said, “I stayed out practicing dreamwalking.”  
  
“Very good,” he said. The response took me by surprise.  
  
“I thought you didn’t want me risking that?”  
  
“You were more careful this time.”  
  
I raised an eyebrow. “How would you know?”  
  
“Unless I am quite mistaken, you are still alive,” he said. “And, you felt more sure of yourself.”  
  
“Were you spying on me or something?”  
  
“I leave that to your interpretation. The other times, I knew how to find you when you used your gift because you were afraid. Although I doubt it was your intention, the golden cord warned me of the danger you were in.” A frown tugged at my lips. “This time, you must have been calmer.”  
  
I thought back. “I was. It was more natural tonight.”  
  
His fingers tapped at the back of a chair. “Did you have cause to use your gift in the Archon, Paige?”  
  
“Yes. I used it to...” I was about to explain how I’d traced dreamscapes, learning where my enemies spent their time and traveled between, but I suddenly felt too tired to discuss it with him. “I used it some.”  
  
Warden didn’t reply right away. Even here, with only me to see him and his hands resting on a chair, his posture was straight. The lines formed by his back and shoulders were only just shy of the rigidity he reserved for other Rephaim.  
  
“I may have an explanation for your irregular clairvoyance.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
He wasn’t looking at me anymore. “You have spent weeks faced with pain and imprisonment. It is only natural that you should seek to escape anything you see as confinement.”  
  
“I’m not confined anymore,” I pointed out.  
  
“But you sense you are somewhere you do not belong. You walk the streets of a foreign city and interact with those who are unfamiliar to you. You have no opportunity to see your friends from London. Perhaps, in an attempt to recover what is known to you, you have sought the only place you can always find yourself: the aether.”  
  
The response I thought of first didn’t even make it to the tip of my tongue. _You think you’re unfamiliar to me?_ Instead, I said, “So I’m just a little homesick.”  
  
“Close enough.”  
  
I rubbed idly at the poltergeist scars on my hand. “I think I’ll be okay, then.”  
  
“Yes,” he said. “And you will grow more confident in your abilities as you return to training.”  
  
I could feel my face light up. “With you?”  
  
“I would have made it an offer,” he said, gaze flicking down to my smile, “but you seem inclined to accept already.”  
  
“You could say that.” I poked the back of the chair with my foot, tilting it away. “At this point, I’d probably agree to lessons with Errai.”  
  
“That would be wise. Errai Sarin is a skilled clairvoyant.”  
  
The chair pitched back to four legs. “Remind me not to make jokes around Rephaim.”  
  
Warden’s features softened, his eyes sparking with amusement. “I will return tomorrow, then. After your rendezvous with Iris.”  
  
My only reply was a nod. I had a feeling there was something I wanted to tell him - or to ask him - but he was already leaving, skirting the chair I had kicked out.  
  
“Wait.” _Do you really hate kissing me that much?_  
  
He stopped and glanced at me, then looked back to the door. The word had lit a flame behind his eyes. _Yes._  
  
“When was the last time you lied to me?” I said.  
  
In the pause before he replied, the golden cord fluttered, but there was no corresponding trace of his emotions. His voice was equally measured, betraying nothing of his reaction. “Paige, you ask me a question which you know I cannot answer.”  
  
For a moment, I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scowl. I settled for replying, “I think I have a talent for doing that.” He finally turned to me, but he didn’t say anything. _Allies. Nothing more._ I breathed in. “The Ranthen aren’t in Paris.”  
  
“I care more for what you think than what they might learn,” he said. His tone was still unconcerned, as if he hadn’t just said he valued my opinion over risking the wrath of our only Rephaite allies.  
  
“I think you should answer my question.”  
  
He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he came to my side. From my seat on the table, I had to look up at him even more than usual. Even though we were just inches apart, he still didn’t touch me. The warmth emanating from his chest quelled the chill  
left from my time outside. “Do you, little dreamer?”  
  
I watched the light in his eyes flicker into a glow. I couldn’t be sure my reply would be more than a whisper, so I only nodded.  
  
His hands settled around my waist, cautious of injuries I hadn’t let him see. Then, as my eyes fell closed, he kissed me. It was gentle, as if he still thought I might pull back, but I was done staying away from him. I raised my hands to his shoulders and fitted my lips to his, making him draw me closer. We sought each other out, desperately, tasting the memory of nights spent together in London and searching for proof of what the intervening time had changed.  
  
When I swung my legs away from the chair, he lifted me, pressing his lips to my jaw as he turned and lowered us to my bed. His hands eased under the trim of my shirt, and the warmth of his skin thrilled heat through my body. I was breathless, hungry for the caress of his touch after weeks of being nothing but a receptacle for pain.  
  
I kissed him once more, tilting against his mouth, before I let my brow rest against his. Silence fell, but he kept his hands resting on my waist.  
  
“You should know,” Warden murmured to me, “that I meant everything else I told you before. Even if it helps you, I will not let you use me to wrench yourself from the aether.”  
  
I glanced up and saw flames in his eyes. This close, the chartreuse color almost seemed golden.  
  
“I know,” I said. Warden turned to watch my face as I settled against him, resting my head on his shoulder. “You won’t have to.”  
  
He nodded his acknowledgement, not breaking my gaze. I hadn’t realized how hard it would be not to see him at all for so long. In the Archon, thinking of Warden only reminded me of the last time we’d seen each other, when I’d ripped myself away from him. But even those memories were a bittersweet comfort compared to the time I spent dazed from white aster.  
  
“I missed you,” I said aloud, softly.  
  
His expression softened. “Knowing the company you kept instead, I would have been highly offended had you not,” he replied. I smiled at that, and he drew his fingers to my lips, tracing the curve of my mouth. “I missed you, too, little dreamer.”  
  
I let a few seconds slip by, entranced by the feeling of his hands on my skin. “Will you stay with me tonight?” I said.  
  
“If you wish it.”  
  
I frowned up at him. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to if you’d rather not.”  
  
There was a pause as we studied each other. Finally, he responded, “I know. I will stay.”  
  
As he framed my face again, a last uncertainty occurred to me. “Does that mean you’ll still be here when I wake up in the morning?”  
  
“I will make you this exchange,” he said, a fire rising in his eyes. “Wake up in the morning, dreamwalker, and I will be here for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can now find me at tincturesofamusement.tumblr.com, where I'm accepting prompts!
> 
> I do welcome comments with constructive criticism (and any corrections of my French) - thank you for reading!


End file.
